


We Don't Talk About...

by lordavon



Series: I'd Rather Hurt Than Live Without You [6]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, spideypool - Fandom
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Depression, M/M, Miscommunication, Peter Parker is a Mess, Sexual Content, Suicide Pact, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Wade wilson is mess, slowly developing a healthier relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 21:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordavon/pseuds/lordavon
Summary: Peter and Wade try to develop healthier communication skills.





	We Don't Talk About...

Wade liked toys. Restraints, plugs, collars, gags; he liked using them. Any night Wade felt dominant and Peter was willing to submit would find him tied into whatever unusual position Wade could bend him into – and Peter was delightfully flexible. One of his favorite evenings had been spent winding rope around a kneeling Peter for several hours, and then playing video games while Peter sucked him off. Wade had lost every single game he’d tried to play that evening, and damn had it been worth it.

Peter was far more hands-on when he was in charge. He was strong enough to simply hold Wade in place whenever he felt like it. He could break Wade’s bones, and Wade would simply moan in pleasure. If he wanted to draw blood his own fingers could gouge Wade’s skin. He never had to worry he’d break or hurt Wade during sex; anything broken would just heal and as for the hurt, Wade insisted he truly enjoyed the pain so long as Peter was the one dishing it out. And given Peter had found a taste for being hurt himself, he couldn’t argue with Wade.

The few others Peter had dated, he’d always had to be careful. He couldn’t ever lose himself in sensation, couldn’t ever really let go. He was just too strong, and he knew he could hurt a lover badly if he didn’t stay in control. Mary Jane had hated it. She’d told him that it was like he never really was there, never really felt what she felt, and she couldn’t take it. He was just distant. Ned had been scared when he’d realized how much Peter held himself back. And Gwen …

His mind shied away from thinking about Gwen.

“Pet?” Wade looked over his shoulder as Peter paused, hilted inside him.

Definitely shouldn’t be thinking of anyone but Wade.

Peter curled over Wade’s back, and bit his shoulder, hard, teeth sinking into scarred skin. He rolled Wade’s flesh against his tongue, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. Wade growled, deep and low in his throat, going very still as Peter held him between teeth and ass. “Fuck,” Wade whispered, his cock leaking pre-cum. Peter let go of his skin, licked over the already healing bruise, a trickle of blood running down his chin as he kissed the spot.

“You’re mine,” he told Wade, slowly starting to thrust again.

“Yes…”

“Say it.”

“I’m yours, Pet.”

He pressed Wade’s face and chest into the bedding as he increased his pace. “Again.”

“You own me, Pet.”

He grinned, face flushed as they slammed into each other, as he felt his own arousal spike, the twitch of his own cock, and he slid an arm around Wade’s waist. Slowly he stroked Wade’s cock, the rough, damaged skin pulling and teasing along his palm. He loved the feel of Wade’s flesh. Felt Wade’s release, the strings of cum painting the sheets, and as Wade swore, panting, Peter thrust into him a few more times before he peaked, holding Wade against him as orgasm overtook him.

Spent, they curled into each other, not caring about the mess, bodies close, legs and arms entwined. Peter pressed little kisses along any bit of skin he could reach. Wade was nearly purring, luxuriating in the soft sensations. Peter licked and nibbled up until he could kiss Wade’s lips. “I hate you,” he whispered.

“I hate you too,” Wade murmured. Peter smiled and kissed him fully, eyes closing as he slipped his tongue into Wade’s mouth, and didn’t see the flash of hurt and doubt in Wade’s eyes.

**

Pacing.

Down the hallway. Around the far side of the bed. Back again. Up the hallway. Past the gun closet. Past the other gun closet. Around the couch. Around the kitchen island. Along the wall. Back down the hallway.

“What the fuck is with you today?” Wade asked the fifth time Peter walked in front of his video game.

No answer.

“Pet?” Waited as Peter paced. “PET!”

“What?” Peter.

“Stop walking in front of the TV. I’m trying to beat this fucking level and I can’t when your ass keeps getting in the way.”

Peter chuckled, but it sounded forced. He sat down on the couch next to Wade and put his hand on Wade’s forehead. “Are you sick? Because I've never heard you complain about my ass before. Do you even get sick?” Put his head on Wade’s shoulder. “Do I need to get you chicken soup?”

Wade tried to dodge and then gave up. “No, I’m trying to play here and figure out what the hell has you wearing a track in the carpeting.”

Any smile left his face. "I need to go out."

"Petey, what's wrong?"

The idea of talking about it gripped his throat and sealed it. Words fell down into his stomach, churning acid. Cold settled in his veins. "I - I can't." He met Wade's eyes briefly; glanced away, afraid if he watched Wade's concern he'd cry. "I just need to go out."

“Do you want – “

“Alone.”

They stared at each other, Peter looking heartbroken, and Wade felt his chest tighten with panic. “Pet…” Wade tossed the controller to the side and pulled Peter into a hug. Peter tensed like he used to, but Wade held on and Peter relented, burrowing into Wade's side. Wade was warm and strong and felt soothing.

"When I get back we can go out together okay?"

The embrace loosened, and Wade kissed him. "You belong to me, Pet."

A ghost of a smile touched Peter's lips. "And you belong to me."

**

The sun was high in the cloudless sky, the grass a vibrant green, the headstones a stark counterpoint to a beautiful afternoon. Peter walked through the cemetery and thought it should be raining to match his mood; then thought that was a stupid idea because it was so cliche. The weather didn't matter. 

There were already flowers at her grave. Her mother must have already come and gone. Peter placed his own bouquet before the tombstone. He then stood there, silent, brushing at his eyes. After several minutes of trying to find words he he turned to leave, then looked back. "I miss you. Some days more than others. I haven't told him about you. I don't know how." He rubbed tears from his eyes. "You'd probably hate him. He's nothing like you." He surprised himself with a chuckle. "Well except he looks good in a dress." Stared at her name. 

He fell to his knees, sobbing like he'd promised himself he wouldn't, apologizing even though he'd promised himself he wouldn't this year; apologizing that she was gone, that he'd found someone else, that he was moving on and couldn't move on and then he was retching into the grass. Apologizing that he'd killed her. It felt like all the words he'd wanted to say to Wade poured out of him into a puddle of bile. 

When he finally left he called Wade. "Just talk to me, Wade."

"You sound awful. Are you all okay, Pet?"

"No." It was the most honest answer he had. "Please Wade. I need you to talk so I know… so you're real. I'm real. Don't make me say anything. I just want to listen."

Wade babbled at him the whole trip back to the apartment; the video game he was playing, about redecorating their apartments, maybe they should just buy a house, they needed to go grocery shopping, he wanted to make a pie for the next dinner at May’s, did you know UFOs are really weather balloons, OMG people think the earth is flat don’t they know it’s more like a moebius strip…

Peter wasn’t exactly smiling by the time he got home, but his heart felt lighter.

**

Wade wrapped Peter into a hug. “What happened?”

Peter shook his head. “I can’t talk about it.” Wade’s face fell, his body stiffened, and Peter frowned up at him. “Don’t. I promise, it’s not you. It’s nothing you’ve done. I’m just fucked up.” He felt Wade take a deep breath. 

“Pet, you’re really hard to live with sometimes.”

“What?”

“I just – you just – I’m a mess, you know that, but you’re – you just…I try to help.”

Peter’s eyes darkened. “I don’t know how to talk about this.”

“Figure it the fuck out.”

“You don’t get to just – just decide that!”

“Maybe I should! Someone fucking ought to!”

“No.” Peter shook his head, stepping away, hugging his arms over his chest. “No, not today. Please, just not today.”

“Then why?” Wade glared at him, angry and tense. 

“Because…oh, dammit…” He went to his grad school supplies and found a sharpie, then tacked some paper up on the wall near the door. _‘Things We Don’t Talk About’_ he wrote on it, drew a line, and then wrote, _‘Why you kill yourself.’_

Wade watched him for a long moment before he took the pen and wrote on the wall. He looked at Peter with a defiant expression as he held out the pen. _‘Why you won’t fucking trust me,’_ joined the list.

_‘Why you always eat all the peanut butter.’_

_‘I miss killing people.’_

_‘Why you won’t trust me, either.’_

_‘You won’t let me pay for grad school.’_

_‘You didn’t ask if I cared if you gave Cable keys.’_

Wade added a second sheet of paper. 

_‘Why you won’t let me say I love you.’_

Peter turned pale, even though he’d expected it. Shaking, he stood in front of the paper, placed the tip of the pen, and then stopped. Started writing, and shook his head, not sure what he wanted to write. With an angry cry he threw the marker across the room and sank to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees, his head falling forward as he cried.

Wade sat down next to him, not touching him, just being near. “You can’t even write it?” he asked, surprising himself at how very quiet his own voice was. 

Peter dragged his hands through his hair. Took a breath. “I’m…I’m trying, Wade.”

“Yeah.” Wade nodded. “I know.” He felt defeated and tired and really wished he could shoot himself. He slid over, letting his head drop to Peter’s shoulder. 

“I wish I was dead,” Peter whispered, staring blankly at their living room.

“Me too.” Wade’s breath shook. “But I guess I’d still rather hurt than live with you gone.”

Peter leaned into Wade. “I guess we live, then,” he sighed, taking Wade’s hand in his and entwining their fingers.

**

The list stayed up on the wall. They would look at it, and then not talk about it. Wade starred the ones he wanted answers to. 

The peanut butter one was crossed out, eventually. 

The one about Cable, too, when a little “I’m sorry I didn’t ask,” showed up next to it one day.

“Fine, you can pay for grad school,” Peter told Wade one night as they watched a movie on TV, eating popcorn on the couch. 

“Finally. You are too damn stubborn, Pet.”

Peter got up long enough to draw a line through the grad school item.

The others were too large for either of them to tackle. For either of them to talk about. So they’d stare at the list, and try halting sentences that went nowhere. Or they’d ignore it, pretending it didn’t exist.

One morning, after Peter had left for classes, Wade noticed a line had been added. He ran his fingers over the word. “Who’s Gwen?” he asked the empty room.

When Peter got home, Wade was waiting to pull him into a hug. “I’m not asking,” he said quietly, feeling Peter relax against him with the relief of not needing to explain.

**

“I got you a present.”

Wade was curled up on the couch reading one of Peter’s textbooks. “A present? For what?”

“Do I need a reason?” Peter handed him a box and sat down on the floor. “Go ahead.”

He opened the package and then looked at Peter with a confused expression. He lifted a black leather collar with a Spider-man charm attached to it. “I thought, Pet,” he said carefully, “we agreed that I end up torn apart too often for something like this?”

Peter shrugged. “I wanted you in one. You don’t have to wear it out.” Wade turned the collar over in his hands a few times. “You’ll note I didn’t buy one you can’t take off.” He tugged affectionately at the collar locked on his own neck with its Deadpool charm.

“You belong to me,” Wade read off the back of the charm. And he smiled. “I love it. Put it on me!” He rolled himself off the couch into Peter’s lap, and in his giddiness missed Peter’s fond smile. Feeling it slipped around his throat and Peter buckling it made him happier than he’d felt in a while. “Why?”

Peter wrapped his arms around Wade, pulling him against his chest. “Because you’re mine, and you deserved one.” He grinned, biting Wade’s neck. “And you put up with me.”

Wade leaned into him with a blissful smile. “You put up with me, too.”

“Of course I do.” Peter licked Wade’s cheek. “You’re mine.

**Author's Note:**

> It's a slow burn to a healthy relationship - hopefully.


End file.
